An American in AnkhMorpork
by Sharona-Snugglebunny
Summary: Ginger is a married artist, and she's fleeing for her life when, seemingly at random, she finds herself in a place beyond anything she's ever known before. Love, family, and a purpose in life are all nice things to find, but what's she really after?


Disclaimer : With the exception of a few characters and the plot of this story, everything from the setting to the vast majority of the characters is the intellectual property of Terry Pratchett. This is merely one fan's attempt at personalizing his amazing works just a tiny bit. No money is made from this endeavor, at all. I wouldn't dream of it, anyway. Anyway, due to some unfortunate unfortunateness, this book takes place about three months after the events of Nightwatch.

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_Amelia would never want to see me like this,_ the woman thought, and she set her jaw resolutely. Into the curiously-shaped bag went her artist's tools- the paints, the charcoal sticks, the brushes, the bottles of ink, pencils, erasers, and the set of chalky pastels. Into the large, flat carrying-case went every paper and canvas. Ginger Aaronson, who only two years ago had been Ginger Jones, was an artist by nature and by trade, until she'd been forced to give it up. Well, no longer. The twenty-four-year-old had it set that she would once again do as her heart commanded, and bugger anyone who tried to stop her.

Brave enough words, alright, until she spotted the ugly, livid bruises on her face in the callous mirror on the wall. Ginger ignored the cold, slippery feeling in her guts as she picked up her glasses-case and, after a moment in which she seriously doubted her ability to pay for new contacts after this set needed replacing, put it into the tacklebox that served as her art kit. Clothes were packed in the nice luggage she'd accumulated in college, and the bags were neatly packed into the trunk of her rented car. Ginger Aaronson was making a run for it.

Roddy Aaronson had seemed a very dashing, charming man when they met. He had seemed to be a very good man, really. He was seven years Ginger's senior and had a worldly air at times, but his face was boyish and handsome. Their courtship was fast and lasted only a few months, and then they'd married. And then, almost immediately- that very night, in fact- Ginger got a good look at who he really was.

Most times he managed to avoid her face, but once in a while he seemed not to care. No turtleneck in the world would cover the broken nose he gave her once, or the black and purple mess that had split her cheek and given her the little scar that she still had today, nearly a year later. Some of it she tried to excuse, and some of it she tried to work through. She'd managed to settle herself into a sort of routine, ignoring the pain and humiliation, focusing on the good things, focusing on the here-and-now. The two things Ginger couldn't forgive were the way Roddy'd looked at and spoken to her younger sister last week, and the... what he'd done last night.

How did Ginger even arrive in this situation? She was by no means a soft person, or a pushover. She was a tall woman, standing at six feet tall in her bare feet, and was notoriously fit. She'd never taken anything from anyone, not even the slightest bit of sass, and yet here she was, fleeing from a husband who somehow had managed to turn her into this, some kind of low, sneaking worm of a-

_Alright, stop right there,_ she thought sharply to herself. _No need thinking that kind of stupid Roddyism. _She finished packing, and after a moment, took the last of her things out to the car. There was a storm brewing, and she wanted to leave before the rain truly came.

Roddy stood next to the white Mazda, one hand resting on the roof of the car.

"Going somewhere?" he asked softly, and Ginger's jaw dropped. She took a step back, and he took two forward, his grin murderous.

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"Amazing," came the exceedingly dry tones of a man who was seeing something he already knew. "And I trust you will be stopping it, then?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, your Lordship," a large, booming voice replied cheerfully. "It'll wear itself out soon enough. You can already see the wispy stuff on the edges, see? The storm might have some interestin' side effects, but even magical storms don't last _too_ long this time o'year." Octarine lightning flashed in the darkness of the clouds, but the Patrician's expression remained the same.

"I expect we will be having quite a lot of cleaning-up to do." This statement was met with a merry sort of shrug.

"Mightn't be the case, y'know!" As Archchancellor of Unseen University, Mustrum Ridcully was, technically, supposed to know this. Whether or not he did seemed beside the point. "Sometimes these storms don't do much but throw a man or two from one place to the other, and it doesn't seem to harm much, eh?"

"No, I suppose not," Lord Vetinari nodded, his eyes on the robust wizard before him. "But if there IS a mess to be cleaned..."

"Suppose you'll have to hire out for an extra maid or two, then," Ridcully cheerfully agreed, nodding. "Good at that sort of thing, you know. Dusting up, sweeping, that sort of thing."

"Yes. You may leave."

"Or a housekeeper, they're a bit more helpful, especially-"

"Now."

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Lightning struck again, and Ginger Aaronson, running awkwardly with her art things weighing her down, stepped into a curious pothole that she didn't remember being in their yard. Roddy grabbed her hair and yanked her back, and lightning struck again, this time much, much closer. "Let go of me!" Ginger wailed, pitching forward. Her head hit something hard, and the last thing she remembered was not a darkness, or the rushing of grass to meet her face, but a flash of bright light that shone horribly. It seemed nearly iridescent and reminded her of blacklight mixed in with a really bright fluorescent bulb... but then that, too, was gone.

Ginger stumbled to her feet, feeling a hard surface under her sandals where there should have been grass.

Roddy was gone.

Feeling relieved, and with a growing migraine, she decided that she must have gotten away from him, and reached the car. Yes, and then she drove to Atlanta, since she was probably confused from that bump on the head. After all, Ginger worked in Atlanta, so she drove there all the time. This city was... big. Big enough. Could be Atlanta. Very... messy, though.

Ginger stopped, slowly focusing her gaze on the wide, sort of grassy brownish ribbon before her. There was a bridge nearby, so... that thing must be a river, in some vague way. Ginger tilted her head slowly, raising it as she did. What kind of place...?

"Scuze me, mum," a small voice called out from the general vicinity of Ginger's backside. She turned quickly, blinking at the small, rather dirty little girlthing who stood grinning and holding out one grubby hand. "Got anyfing shiny on ya?"

Ginger blinked, then nodded, digging into her art kit. She took out a rather large, bright steel bulldog clip, putting it into the girl's hand. "It's a clip for holding things together," she explained, sounding slightly dazed. The kid seemed properly astounded, and tried opening and closing the clip a few times. "Wow, mum, that's amazing, that is!"

"Yeah, it is," Ginger replied vaguely, leaning down. "Say, could you take me to your Mommy?"

"Can't," the girl said, clipping bits of her ragged sleeve. "She got buried inna ground, Daddy says."

"Oh! I'm sorry," Ginger apologized hastily, flushing. "Well, can you take me to your Daddy, then? I just need to use his pho-"

"Daddy ain't home, but we live with a nice lady," the kid said happily, grabbing Ginger's wrist. "Come on, mum, I'll take ya there right fast, so I will!"

"Alright- oh my sweet merciful lord," Ginger nearly shrieked, stopping and pointing. "What's all those?"

"Those is a couple of the Watch," the kid said, squinting. "Daddy says to always be good and not be naughty and the Watch won't put me inna dungeon."

"But they're.. huge! They're huge and they're made out of rocks and and-" Ginger stopped, realizing that the kid was giving her a Look of exquisite proportions. "You... don't see that they're..."

"Trolls?" the girl supplied, and grinned. "You must be new to the city, mum. This is Ankh-Morpork, Daddy says we got a efnic diversy here."

"Trolls." Ginger blinked, then shook her head. "Are we... close to where your Daddy lives? With the nice lady?"

"Missus Cake? Yeah, we pretty close, mum." The girl seemed incapable of any expression other than grinning.

"Okay. That's good. Just... take me to this place, please," Ginger said faintly, glancing back at the crowded streets around them. Only now did she actually notice that many of the people didn't... exactly... resemble humans. There were a bunch of short little people with great big beards and helmets and axes, and more great big rocky troll people, and some of the people Ginger saw looked like their last names were "the Barbarian." Ginger felt for the little girl's shoulder and squeezed.

"Wait," she said, and sank to her knees. "I need... a minute... to... unnnhh..."


End file.
